For Your Troubles
by systrami
Summary: On a mission for the Companions, Vilkas feels out of his comfort zone, but receives help from an unexpected source. Several months later, she appears again, expecting him to return the favor. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Vilkas huddled in the shadows under one of the stone walkways in Markarth. From where he was standing he had a clear view of the magnificent entrance of the Treasury House – the property of the Silverbloods, the richest family in the Reach. The reason for his casual surveillance was that he was waiting for the younger brother, Thonar, to make an appearance.

A Breton, who refused to reveal his name, had shown up in Jorrvaskr, asking for assistance, claiming that the Silverbloods had something to do with the recent attacks from the Forsworn in the city of Markarth. When it became clear that the Breton wanted the Companions to spy on Thonar Silverblood, Vilkas had almost thrown the man out. The Companions were honorable warriors, not simple thieves or spies! The man had broken down then, sobbing and mumbling about corruption, murders and guards looking the other way. The Circle, especially Farkas, had taken pity on the Breton, and when he promised them 800 septims for their troubles, the agreement was made. Since Kodlak's death, offers of missions had been scarce for the Companions. It seemed that most of their reputation stood and fell with the former Harbinger.

Aela had seemed like the obvious choice for the mission – however, as the full moon was almost upon them, the huntress was more than a little on edge these days. Farkas was surprisingly stealthy for being such a big man, but Vilkas had worried that his twin wouldn't be able to think fast enough in case he was caught, so Vilkas had reluctantly volunteered himself. There was no way one of the whelps would hear about this dishonorable request, he decided.

Suddenly, the doors of the Treasury House opened and Thonar – flanked by a burly Nord, almost as big as Vilkas, and a smaller Imperial, dressed in fine clothes – stepped out. Vilkas gave them a few seconds of head start, and then discreetly started to follow the three men. However, discreet wasn't exactly the warrior's forte. Clad in a simple tunic and trousers, he blended in easily with the civilians. His usual armor had been left behind, as it was too heavy and too easily recognizable. He'd been unable to part with his weapon however, and kept a hand on the hilt of the one-handed sword at his waist. Still, he felt naked and defenseless without the familiar weight of the wolf armor. At times like these he wished he still had the beast blood. Being able to hear a man's heartbeat, sensing the very vibrations of someone's steps had saved his life many times in the past.

The three men ahead of him were walking at a slow pace – most likely headed to the inn, Vilkas thought. As he neared the market, the big Nord man walking with Thonar turned around, lifting one hand to the big war axe on his back. Vilkas cursed inwardly and headed straight for the nearest market stall, turning his back on his intended target. _Shor's balls, that was close!_ He tried to glance behind him and saw that Thonar had disappeared but the Nord mercenary was still there– looking right at him with narrowed eyes. Vilkas attempted to look innocent and feigned an excessive amount of interest in the trinkets before him. He could hear heavy footsteps coming closer. _Shit! Any second now…_ Suddenly, someone grabbed his arm and forced him to turn. Vilkas was surprised by the warm brown eyes that curiously peered up at him and he forced himself to loosen his grip on the hilt of his sword.

"Honey! There you are," the young woman holding his arm said with a relieved smile.

Behind her he could see the mercenary had stopped in his pace and was interestedly eyeing the couple. Either the girl had mistaken him for someone else, or she was trying to help. Either way, Vilkas saw his chance and took it, wrapping his arm around her and smiling back.

"Well, yes, I got caught up trying to buy you a little present," he said and her smile brightened even further. The Redguard woman behind the stall sensed a potential customer and started prattling about the various items on display. While his "lover" listened with interest, the Companion chanced a quick look backward. _Damn, he's still watching._

"Oh! Look at this, sweetie. Isn't it just _gorgeous_?" The dark-haired Nord woman held up a silver chain. The pendant was silver, encircling three flawless amethysts. It was rather attractive, Vilkas thought.

"I want to see how it looks. Help me put it on," the woman said, handing him the necklace.

She turned around with her back to him and swept her long dark locks to one side. He put the thin chain around her neck and fiddled with the clasp a few times before he was able to close it, accidentally brushing her nape, which induced a small shiver from the woman.

"There," he said and she turned back to him, smiling brighter than ever with a mischievous glint in her dark eyes. He could see the saleswoman nodding approvingly.

"Oh, honey. Can I have it? _Please?_ "

"How much?"

"Oh, only 300 septims. A special price, for you and your wife!"

Vilkas paled at the mention of the price. No way was he paying that much for a piece of ordinary jewelry – especially not for a stranger! The young woman at his side sensed his hesitation. She brought her face closer to his, stopping only when their lips were a mere inch apart. He could feel her warm breath on his lips, her fingers playing with the hair at his neck.

"I promise I'll make it up to you later tonight," she whispered suggestively. He blushed furiously at her implication, turning even more crimson when she closed the space between them and put her mouth close to his ear.

"He's still watching," she breathed.

 _Who?_ Vilkas was thoroughly confused for a few seconds. That was _not_ the kind of dirty talk he'd been expecting. _Oh right, the mercenary. Focus Vilkas!_

He turned to the Nord and lightly kissed her. He forced himself to pull away and not linger on her soft lips. Inwardly laughing at her startled expression he turned to the saleswoman and handed her his coin purse.

"Then how can I say no? 300 septims it is," he said, feeling both furious and extremely smug.

The girl squealed happily and hugged him tightly. When they turned to leave, he dared to glance back again, noticing that the guard had finally decided to leave him be and gone after his superior into the Silverblood Inn.

Vilkas wrapped his arm around the woman, leading her to a less crowded area, while she chatted excitedly about pointless nothings the whole way. When he felt certain that they were no longer visible from the market area, he quickly dragged her into the very same alleyway he had started from only ten minutes earlier. _Talos, it felt like longer._

He pushed her up against the wall – maybe a little rougher than what was necessary – and her whole demeanor changed from sweet and innocent to something a little, well, _darker._ Her expression turned impish and a challenging smile was present on her lips.

"Well, you're certainly lucky I came to your rescue, _Companion_. If not, you'd probably be in some basement strung up by your ankles right now. Or even better, wasting away in Cidhna Mine" she said.

"Thank you. Even if your methods were quite unconventional, your quick thinking was really – hang on. How do you know who I am?" Vilkas was stumped; he thought he had taken great care to conceal his identity before following his target.

She tilted her head and studied him for a few seconds before producing a small note from one of her pockets. Vilkas instantly recognized it as the letter his Breton employer had supplied at their first contact.

"Where did you get that!?" he said angrily, trying and failing to take it from her. She slid away from his grasp as quickly and nimbly as a cat.

"You'd think a Companion would notice when he's being pickpocketed. Well, if that's all, then I should be going." She turned to leave.

"Wait!" Vilkas said. "The necklace."

The woman looked at him curiously. "It was a gift, you said," she stated.

"Yes, and you said you'd make it up to me later tonight, but that's not going to happen, so…" he stretched out his right hand, palm facing up.

She smiled that playful smile again. "You never know, someday I just might. But for now, this is goodbye," she said and turned to leave again. The warrior grasped for his sword, only to find his scabbard empty and his weapon in the hand of the woman opposite him, pointing at his exposed throat, her hand steady and unwavering.

"This is Skyforge Steel, isn't it? Another giveaway – only the Companions of Jorrvaskr carry nice weapons such as this. Now, please don't follow me, because I'd rather not hurt you. Oh, and thank you for the gift," she smiled. Then she was gone, having disappeared into the shadows without a trace.

Vilkas was left standing alone in the dark passage, utterly confused. There was no denying it, he had blown the mission. The only sensible thing was to return to Jorrvaskr. Yet, he hesitated. Embarrassing as it was, Farkas wouldn't blame him for failing the mission, while Aela would be annoyed. But how in _oblivion_ would he explain to them that he got robbed?

* * *

Thank you for reading! Reviews are appreciated :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Two.**

* * *

Supper at Jorrvaskr was always a boisterous affair. It was to be expected of course, given the energetic warriors and large amount of mead available. Vilkas didn't usually care for the rowdy dinner and today, as he was nursing a throbbing headache, was worse than ever. The Nord tried to tune out the voice of Torvar who was telling a rather filthy story while Njada and Athis laughed heartily. Looking to his left, he saw Ria blushing furiously and Erik trying to appear as though he was not listening.

"Torvar, that's enough. You're making the whelps uncomfortable," he growled.

The drunkard stopped his retelling and glanced at the two youngest members. Then he smirked and wiggled his eyebrows at Erik. "It'sh besht they learn what to exshpect!" he slurred. "In fact, I can show you how it'sh done!" He attempted to stand while fondling the strings in the front of his trousers, but ultimately lost the fight with gravity and went down cursing.

Ria had whimpered as Torvar started grabbing the front of his pants and Vilkas was now concerned that she would pass out of embarrassment at any given moment.

"Eww, old man! No one wants to see _that_!" Njada grimaced at the man still on the floor. Her only answer was a loud snore. She scoffed and kicked his legs for good measure.

Vilkas sighed. One less voice adding to the cacophony that threatened to split his skull open. He caught Farkas' eyes looking at him across the table. He looked both smug and sympathetic, a feat only his brother could succeed in. Vilkas gulped down the contents of his mug and rose to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand.

He walked out through the backdoors, hoping that some fresh air and peace and quiet would soothe his cantankerous mood. There were no sconces lit, but the light from Masser and Secunda was plenty to bathe the large training area in pale moonlight.

Suddenly, a howl echoed from the plains of Whiterun and was answered by several others. Vilkas smirked. Aela must be enjoying herself out there. Though he and his brother had given up the beastblood, the huntress still thought of it as a blessing. Maybe it was her only chance to be with Skjor again, reunited in the eternal Hunting Grounds of Hircine. But, she was not alone. Caspus Marcellus, the Dragonborn and current Harbinger had embraced the beastblood whole-heartedly and were most likely hunting the tundra alongside her tonight.

"How are you feeling, brother? You looked like you were going to faint in there," Farkas was exiting Jorrvaskr and came up to stand next to his twin. Vilkas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They had trained together this afternoon and Farkas had managed to get a lucky hit with his broadsword, resulting in a nasty bump on Vilkas' forehead along with the cursed headache.

"I'm fine. It takes a lot more than just a graze to the head to make me lose consciousness," he replied, raising one eyebrow.

"I didn't say that. I said _faint_. Like an old woman," the twin said with a toothy grin. "After all, Torvar's story was positively _raunchy_! Good thing you were there to protect virgin ears!"

"Spare me your wit, Farkas." Vilkas was usually the smart one and it was never a good sign of his mental health when his dimwitted brother started spouting clever retorts.

"Sorry. It's just that I rarely get to best you in a fight anymore. You have to let me enjoy it while I can!" he smiled gently.

Vilkas scoffed. It was true Farkas rarely manage to beat him – in fact they were very equally matched most of the time. Farkas was stronger, but Vilkas faster, which resulted in an enjoyable sparring most of the time. This afternoon, though, Vilkas thought he had spotted someone hiding in the shadows by the Underforge – losing his concentration for just one second, but giving his brother plenty of time to pierce his defenses.

It was getting ridiculous. It'd been several months since he met that thief in Markarth, and still he couldn't help but seeing her mocking brown eyes in every dark corner, expecting her to attack him. He wasn't scared – no Vilkas was rarely afraid of anything – but he felt vulnerable knowing that someone physically weaker was able to best him. That someone had had no trouble outsmarting him in getting what they wanted, and that unnerved him.

"I'm heading to bed. Goodnight brother," Farkas clapped him on the shoulder and went back inside.

"Sleep well," Vilkas replied. He remained for a while longer, watching the darkness, before going inside. Making his way downstairs, he tried to ignore the dancing, flickering shadows cast by the multitude of candles leading the path to his bedroom.

* * *

Morning brought a heavy rainfall. Despite going to bed late last night, Vilkas, as usual, was one of the first to arise in Jorrvaskr. Making his way up to the common room, he noticed he wasn't the only one awake, however.

"Morning!" Caspus sounded cheerful, biting into a hunk of bread.

"Good morning. I didn't expect anyone else to be awake. Least of all you," Vilkas replied politely.

The Imperial shrugged. "I didn't stay out very long last night. Aela didn't return until an hour or so ago. I expect she won't be up until late afternoon." He returned to chewing his breakfast.

Vilkas sat down opposite the Harbinger, picking up a piece of cheese and a slice of bread for himself. He opted to fill his cup with water, foregoing the usual mead. He found himself studying the older man at the other side of the table.

Caspus Marcellus had come to Skyrim a couple of years ago, arriving just in time to witness Alduin destroy Helgen, and effectively saving the Imperial's life. The Dragonborn, they had called him, was said to have a soul of a dragon and the only one who could end the World-eater and save the world. Which he did. The Imperial had confided in Vilkas of the trials he had gone through and he had never been quite the same since returning from Sovngarde. Vilkas shuddered at the thought of what disturbing events could have affected a man who had fought in and seen the horrors of the Great War. He was pulled out of his reverie when he realized Caspus had been watching him.

"I met a friend at the gates last night. He had some interesting news to share. We're meeting at the Bannered Mare, if you'd like to accompany me?"

"I wouldn't want to intrude on your reunion with a friend," Vilkas replied distantly.

"Nonsense, you are my friend as well. Besides, this concerns the Companions as a whole, I believe," Caspus insisted.

Vilkas nodded. "In that case, I will eat there. Hulda's smoked horker meat is delicious."

"Good idea. It will be infinitely times better than whatever Tilma manage to cook up."

* * *

Despite the early hour, the Bannered Mare was far from empty. The usual stragglers sat around the fire pit and Vilkas found himself wondering, not for the first time, if these people ever left the inn. Hulda greeted them with a friendly wave, which Caspus eagerly returned.

Caspus' friend turned out to be a Nord hunter called Valdr. He had pale long hair and dark, leathery skin, betraying a lifestyle lived outdoors. After the usual pleasantries had been exchanged, Caspus went right down to business.

"What news did you have, concerning the Companions?" he asked, taking a bite of the smoked meat on his plate.

Valdr took a moment to think, stroking his chin with his thumb and index finger. "Three days ago, I ran in to a man near Hunter's Rest. He was in pretty bad shape and looked scared out of his mind. As he calmed down he said he'd been transporting goods from Markarth and been attacked by bandits south of Fort Sungard. He'd abandoned the carriage and just started running for his life."

He took a swig of his drink before continuing. "He was supposed to be transporting a load of silver ingots from Markarth to Solitude, when the bandits attacked."

Vilkas considered this for a moment, drawing a map of the Reach inside his head.

"If he were headed to Solitude, what was he doing at Fort Sungard?" he asked the hunter.

Valdr smiled with approval. "That's the question, isn't it? Why take the south road, which is at least two days longer, instead of taking the north one, past Karthwasten?"

"Suspicious as though this may seem, I fail to see why this would concern the Companions," the Harbinger stated.

"I'm getting to that. The other thing that caught my attention was the driver's description of the bandits. Not the usual dirt-poor ruffians, he said. These ones were carrying big swords made out of silver."

"The Silver Hand."

"Indeed."

Vilkas glanced at the Imperial who seemed deep in thought. After the Kodlak's murder, the remaining Companions had come down on the Silver Hand, and struck them hard. They had been quiet for over a year now, and Vilkas had quietly hoped that maybe they were gone for good. If they had rebuilt to the point that they were out raiding silver shipments, however, something had to be done.

"The driver?" Caspus suddenly asked.

Valdr sighed. "I tried to convince him to come with me, but he refused. Couldn't knock him out and drag him with me with good conscience either," he grinned.

"Thank you for coming with this to me, Valdr. You're a good friend," the Harbinger put a coin purse on the table before getting up. "Food and drinks are on me." Then he gestured for Vilkas to accompany him.

As the two men walked back to Jorrvaskr, the city of Whiterun began to awaken. The merchants had opened their stalls, crying out the names of today's specials, the children were running around playing tag and the guards had changed their shifts.

"We need to investigate this. We cannot let the Silver Hand become as strong as they used to be," Caspus spoke quietly, lest anyone else would overhear.

"Farkas and I can go to Fort Sungard, where the carriage was attacked. See if we find anything."

Caspus nodded. "Yes, but I want you to take Ria and Erik with you."

Vilkas winced inwardly. "The whelps? Do you really think that this kind of mission is good for them?"

"Yes, Ria has been a member longer than I have, you know, and Erik is talented fighter. Besides, it's just an investigation and if anything were to happen, you and your brother will be there!" The Imperial started to sound cheerful again, applying his much beloved logic to the problem.

Vilkas nodded. Caspus was like Kodlak in so many ways, but completely opposite in others. Yet, he found he didn't miss the old man as much as he did right after his death. For the last years of his life, Kodlak had become increasingly weaker with illness. Dying in combat, while protecting his comrades had granted him a place in Shor's Hall, Vilkas knew, as Caspus had encountered him while defeating the World Eater in Sovngarde.

"You'll inform your shield siblings and leave today, hm?" Caspus inquired.

"Yes, master."

"I'm nobody's master, Vilkas."

The powerful warriors caught each other's eye for a moment before bursting out laughing like two teenage boys.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I decided to turn this oneshot into a multichapter (a recurring theme when it comes to me, apparently!). I approximate it will be at around ten chapters or so. Also, English isn't my first language so I apologize if the grammar is weird sometimes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Three.**

* * *

The greatsword swung through the air before connecting with its target with a satisfying crunch. Vilkas spun around before the wolf even had fallen, his eyes searching for a new enemy. There were none. Farkas had quickly dealt with the second predator and Ria and Erik were slaying the third one. The brothers made no move to help them – wolves were after all one of the easier enemies in Skyrim. Their strength lay in numbers, and with the rest of the pack gone, the last one should prove no challenge.

One of Ria's arrows pierced the canine's throat and it fell to the ground. Erik was breathing heavily and made to put his battle axe on his back.

"Stop," Vilkas stepped forward, his eyes trained on the young Nord. "Wipe off your weapon when the blood is still wet. If it dries, the edge will be ruined and you'll have to have it sharpened."

Erik looked annoyed. "I know that! But there isn't any blood on it, so I-" he fell silent as he realized his error.

"In your next battle, your weapon better be bloodied," Vilkas reprimanded, before turning away. _New bloods_ , he thought irritably. _What point is it in having a weapon if you don't use it?_

The trek out from Whiterun had taken better part of the day. They had set a brisk pace, but with such heavy armor anything faster would have been downright uncomfortable. The twins had decided they would spend the night in the wilderness and so they bunked down around Gjukar's monument. It was far enough from the road so they wouldn't be spotted, but close enough that animals and giants wouldn't come lumbering into camp. Ria had whispered about ghosts, but Farkas had calmed her in his usual unflappable ways.

As they were four people, they only had to keep watch for a few hours each and after an uneventful night they packed up and left for the road. They had just arrived at the empty carriage, when a pack of wolves descended upon the Companions, clearly annoyed that their breakfast was so rudely interrupted.

Vilkas inspected the half-eaten corpse of the horse still tied to the carriage with a disgusted grimace. The smell must have lured the beasts for an easy two younger warriors came up behind him, Ria with a comforting hand on Erik's shoulder.

"They killed the horse," Farkas said. "They must have shot it with an arrow from over there," he pointed at a flat outcropping of the mountainside. Vilkas followed his direction, wondering how in oblivion anyone would be able to climb up there.

"An ambush. They were expecting the delivery," the Imperial speculated, looking at Vilkas with her eyebrows raised. He nodded slowly.

"It would appear that way." This concerned him. The Silver Hand were no more than common bandits, but usually concentrated their efforts on the Companions and those who consorted with Daedra –like a darker version of the vigilants of Stendarr. They rarely had the intelligence or skills to plan ahead, and if this ambush were indeed their work; it would seem they were definitely under new management.

Erik shuffled awkwardly behind him. "So, head to Markarth to figure out who set this up or follow the tracks of the Silver Hand?" he asked.

Vilkas looked up. He hadn't noticed any tracks leading away from the scene earlier, but looking closer he could see traces of something heavy being dragged on the gravel road. He paused for a moment to consider his options, glancing at Farkas who stared blankly in front of him, oblivious to everything. He would not be of any help.

"We follow the tracks. If we're lucky we'll catch the Silver Hand in action." He started walking east, following the dusty imprints, Farkas trailing after him.

"Yes, lucky us," Ria whispered to Erik before following the brothers. He smiled in return, eyes crinkling happily.

* * *

After half an hour of walking, Erik took the lead, eager to make up for his embarrassment from earlier. He might not be the fiercest of warriors, but growing up on a farm had allowed the red-haired youth to become quite proficient at tracking. He told them that he'd learned while hunting, neglecting to mention all the times he'd been sent out to bring home the escaped goats. It didn't sound quite as manly, he thought, casting a sideways glance at Ria.

The sun passed over the group and the day turned into afternoon when Erik suddenly stopped.

"What is it?" Farkas asked.

"I know this place. There is a cave right ahead, it's usually filled with bandits," Erik answered. "Last year a group of warriors from Hammerfell claimed the place."

Vilkas remembered this. They had travelled across Whiterun Hold, terrorizing every Redguard woman – and some dark skinned Imperials and Nords – they came across. He'd even helped the city guards to imprison one of them, a man who refused to take no for an answer and had snuck into the city without permission. Criminals as well, at least in Vilkas' eyes.

"Well, the Silver Hand are certainly bandits. This might be the place," Vilkas scoffed. "I'll take the lead now. Stay on guard." The younger man obediently fell back, not wanting to dive headfirst into a den full of armed lunatics.

As the Companions drew nearer to the wooden door marking the entrance, Vilkas heard Ria take a startled breath. Next to the door were two wooden stakes, both sharpened at the edge, piercing a severed werewolf head on each spike. Vilkas felt himself grow angry at the sight.

"We're definitely at the right place. Weapons ready," he warned before walking through the door.

The Companions treaded carefully through the winding corridors, avoiding traps and inspecting each and every crevice, not wanting the Silver Hand to catch them unawares. So far, they had not encountered anyone, save for the werewolf that they had found suspended on a metal table, clearly tortured to death. Vilkas had growled at the sight. Of course the Silver Hand thought werewolves were feral – push someone to the brink of death enough times and they'll be sure to push back eventually. Vilkas just hoped that this particular werewolf had pushed hard. Hard enough to snap someone's neck, he thought.

The tunnel opened up into a big cavern ahead of them. He indicated that Ria would come stand behind him with her bow ready, in case this was an ambush. Vilkas was slowly making his way through the cavern, his eyes moving constantly, seeking out potential dangers. He must have looked quite amusing, spinning around as in an intricate dance with his greatsword raised before him.

No one leaped out at him, though. The shadows stayed were they were, the lack of light keeping them still and unmoving. Vilkas rouse from his crouch, confident that there were no Silver Hand here.

"We're too late," he called to the others. "Spread out and see if you can find anything useful."

They nodded and headed off in separate directions, Farkas going up the stairs while Ria and Erik explored the smaller tunnel. That left only the larger corridor for Vilkas. He kept the sword in front of him, unwilling to sheathe it just yet. As he went further down the tunnel, he almost had to stop because of the cloying smell coming from the darkness. It reeked of death. No longer a werewolf, Vilkas didn't have the strong sense of smell the beastblood had gifted him with, but his senses were still sharper than the average human.

The tunnel opened up into another cavern, this one smaller than the one he just came from. It was pitch black, forcing the Nord to return to the tunnels, retrieving a torch and lighting it with some flint and tinder. He was never one for magic, after all.

The light revealed the source of the putrid stench. In the cavern were three cages, each one occupied with several corpses, all in varying degrees of decay. Vilkas secured his sword on his back, which allowed one of his hands to cover his nose and mouth, damping the smell somewhat. These people did not die pleasant deaths, he thought angrily. There was one werewolf in each cage, surrounded by the humans who all seemed to have some form of laceration on their bodies. You didn't need to be a genius to figure out how they died.

He was just about to head back through the tunnels, his enhanced senses unable to withstand the onslaught of impressions, when he heard something. It sounded like a wheeze. Was there someone alive? He swept the light from the torch over the dead bodies, his eyes following its trail. They all looked dead.

A shadow moved in the corner, created by his torch and magnified on the stone wall. He grabbed at his sword before realizing the culprit was only a rat, feasting on one of the cadavers. The human part inside him told him to shoo the creature away, but the warrior knew there would be no funeral for these poor wretches. The only thing that remained for them in this world was to provide sustenance for those who preyed on corpses – rats, flies and maggots. It seemed heartless, but they were dead – no longer able to use their bodies for themselves. He left the small cavern.

Farkas and Erik were already waiting in the large space, Farkas inspecting the leftovers on the table. Most of it was rancid and moldy, the bread had gone stale and the spices had wilted. It was apparent that the hideout had been abandoned for several days, possibly they left as soon as they got their hands on the silver.

"It looks like they left in a hurry," Ria said as she exited from the other tunnel. "They left all this food and there are still clothes in the drawers."

"Perhaps they knew we were coming?" Erik mused and Vilkas was inclined to agree with the whelp for once. Though – the Silver Hand had never run from a fight before. Why start now?

"I also found this." Ria presented them with several sheets of paper. "It's a receipt for the silver ingots. There is also some correspondence between someone here and a person in Markarth discussing the change of route. The other person isn't mentioned by name though."

She handed the letters to Vilkas who read through them quickly, confirming Ria's conclusions. The correspondence revealed that the plan was for an escort to join up from Whiterun, hence the reroute to the south road. The receipt was signed, but the name was illegible. He sighed; it appeared to be a dead end. "Let's return to Jorrvaskr." He was eager to leave this foul place.

"Should we not head to Markarth?" Ria asked.

"It's been at least a week since the shipment went out and the trail is most likely cold by now. There is nothing more we can do."

* * *

It was a dejected group of warriors that returned to Whiterun later that night. Foregoing making camp, they instead pressed on, eager to sleep in their own beds instead of the tundra. The rain had started pouring down as they passed the Western Watchtower. The tower had been rebuilt after the dragon attack almost two years ago. Never having fought one himself, Vilkas was selfishly disappointed the attacks had lessened over the months to the point when they just stopped. He didn't know if they'd all been killed or if they were just biding their time for the next strike. According to Caspus, they were intelligent creatures and not just mindless beasts as Vilkas had first thought. The Harbinger was reluctant to share his stories about the dragons and Vilkas knew the man still had trouble sleeping ever since returning from Sovngarde.

Approaching the heavy gate that was the only entrance to the city, Vilkas was disturbed to note the lack of guards. There should be at least two guarding the gate and another three on the platforms. The Companions considered themselves members of the Guard in Whiterun and were very much involved with the security in the city. He would need to talk to Commander Caius, it seemed. Despite the fact that the war was over and the dragons unaccounted for – thereby removing the most immediate threats – there were still dangerous people sneaking around Skyrim.

They met several patrolling guards on their way up to Jorrvaskr, easing Vilkas nerves slightly and soothing his temper as he finally stepped into the large building he'd called home most of his life. Despite the late hour, there was a merry little fire blazing away, washing the room in light and warmth. He went straight to the stairs before the sound of his brother's voice stopped him in his daze.

"Aren't you going to eat anything, brother?"

The other three had sat down at the table, helping themselves to the leftovers Tilma had neglected to clean up. If deliberate or not, he did not know. The elderly woman was worryingly perceptive when it came to the needs of hungry warriors.

"No, thank you. I prefer sleep to food, actually. Goodnight brother."

Farkas looked appalled as though he considered it impossible to rate anything higher than food, but bid him goodnight as he descended the stairs. Too tired to light a candle, Vilkas left the door slightly ajar to allow some light to seep into the dark room. He loosened the straps of his outer plates and peeled off every layer of soaking armor and finally stripping down until he was only wearing the pair of woolen trousers he usually wore underneath the wolf armor.

Vilkas stepped up to washing basin in the corner, intent on washing off the sweat and lingering smell from the cave, shivering slightly from the cold water. Turning to find the piece of cloth he usually used to dry off with, he froze when he noticed the figure sitting cross-legged on his bed.

Her dark eyes watched the droplets of water chase one another and making their way down his naked torso. As she finally dragged her gaze up to meet his, she was wearing a familiar teasing smirk.

"As tempting as it is, this isn't a social visit," she said and rose from the bed, the smile being replaced by a more urgent expression. "I need your help."


	4. Chapter 4

**Four.**

* * *

Caspus did not appreciate being woken in the middle of the night. The fact that someone had successfully managed to break into Jorrvaskr, without alerting anyone to her presence before cornering a half-naked and sleepy Vilkas, did however catch his attention. He appraised her where she stood calm and collected, with subtly raised eyebrows and a tiny smirk, whereas the man in question was _livid_. Vilkas was pacing from side to side in the Harbinger's room and ranting, calling the girl the most inventive names.

Caspus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Vilkas, please stop shouting before you alert everyone to this… situation."

The Nord stopped and straightened his back. "She is a _thief_! A thief and a burglar! I say we alert the guards to lock her up," his eyes were burning as he pointed at the woman in question.

"You could. But then you will never be able to find the Silver Hand. You do want them gone, don't you?" she said, smiling. Caspus felt, against his will, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a reluctant smile. She wasn't ugly by any means – but not very attractive either. She was rather plain-looking, with generic features, albeit slightly darker coloring than the average Nord. When she smiled, however, it transformed her face and her eyes glittered. The Harbinger knew at that very instant that she was dangerous. He'd met plenty of people like her in Cyrodiil; average men and women who appeared non-threatening, but with an inherent charisma that mesmerized anyone that stopped to listen.

"Ronja, was it?" The woman nodded. "Please sit down and tell us why you are here." He gestured to the table next to him and gave the other Companion a pointed look. "You too, Vilkas."

Caspus sat himself between the two Nords, sensing the need of some kind of barrier. Since Vilkas had woken him up – quite rudely – Ronja had been hinting at having knowledge of the inner workings at the Silver Hand. He didn't believe she would break into one the home of the most well-known warriors in all of Skyrim without a good reason and was therefore reluctant to alert the guards before hearing what she had to say, and frankly it was rather embarrassing that no one had noticed her.

"Now, please start from the beginning."

She cleared her throat. "Two months ago, my brother disappeared. He was travelling with friends between Dawnstar and Riften." She ignored Vilkas' disdained scoff at the mention of the city of thieves. "When he never came back, I started investigating. Interrogating travelers and bribing guards, and such."

Caspus shared a look with Vilkas. He was sure there was more to her mention of 'interrogation' than she saw fit to share. The Nord warrior frowned and looked to the burglar with dark eyes. She did not appear bothered by the threatening look.

"I learned that my brother and his companions were not the only ones who had disappeared in that area. After a while, my sources pointed me to a previously abandoned fort in The Pale. When I arrived I found that it was infested by bandits – though not the usual kind. These people were carrying silver swords."

"The Silver Hand aren't that well-known by the common folk," Vilkas spat. "It's very convenient that they just happened to be there when you came to us."

"Well, the werewolf heads put on stakes outside the fort was another clue," she said pointedly. "And I specialize in information gathering."

"Of course you do." The warrior mocked.

Caspus rolled his eyes at their bickering. He was unsure what had caused Vilkas' hostility towards Ronja. Obviously, it was embarrassing for anyone, especially a powerful warrior, to be cornered in your own home. Weaponless and without armor, the situation could have turned ugly. The Imperial was certain though, had there been a tussle, Vilkas would have come out victorious, unarmed or not. No, the Nord's antagonism would surely have another explanation. He would demand answers later.

"Was your brother abducted by the Silver Hand?" Caspus interrupted the escalating argument.

"Yes," she nodded. "I infiltrated the prison but was unable to get him out. There were at least forty hostiles inside that fort."

"Forty?" Vilkas asked disbelievingly. "We nearly exterminated the Silver Hand almost a year ago. There is no way they recovered from it that quickly."

Ronja gave him a bored look. "The key word here being 'nearly'. It's not that difficult to recruit people who want to rid the world of werewolves, especially not when you're helping the rumors along."

Caspus narrowed his eyes at her insinuation. "What do you mean?"

"People have been disappearing on the roads for several months. It's easy to convince the masses that there are rabid werewolves at large. Especially after what happened in Falkreath with that little girl."

Caspus was surprised by the sudden pain in his chest at the mention of Sinding. He had sympathized with the man and tried to help, but in the end the werewolf had been too far gone and Caspus had to put him down. He had not expected to feel so strongly for the death of a man he barely knew – a man who tried to kill him and did kill a child.

"Is your brother a werewolf?" he asked.

Ronja shook her head. "Look, we can help each other! I need to save my brother but can't break him out alone and I know you want the Silver Hand gone. I know where they are and I have correspondence that will help you take them down permanently this time!"

She locked eyes with him and Caspus felt hesitant. She presented a valid point, but he was reluctant to just take her word for it. Vilkas voiced his feelings on the matter, however.

"Why should we trust you?"

Her shoulders slumped slightly at his harsh tone, but she didn't falter in keeping eye contact. "Because my brother is all I have left. I will do _anything_ to save him."

The Companions shared a look and Vilkas shook his head. Caspus tapped his fingers against the table top in a rhythmic pattern while he was considering his options. He knew he couldn't make a decision before knowing the whole story between the two Nords.

"We will consider your offer and give you an answer tomorrow."

The woman looked like she wanted to argue further, but the Imperial silenced her with a look he'd adapted from his Legate in the army. It was a very useful look that worked on both soldiers, shopkeepers and even the occasional Jarl. Obviously she wasn't impervious to it either, he was delighted to note. She nodded once, rose from the chair and started heading for the door, clearly thinking herself dismissed.

"However, I want you to spend the remainder of the night in the dungeon up in Dragonsreach," he said to her retreating back. She stopped immediately and turned to look at him incredulously. "As a sign of good faith," he continued with a smile. "Vilkas, will you please fetch your brother so he can escort our guest?" The Nord stood immediately and exited the room, taking care to bump against Ronja's shoulder on his way out. She was small enough to stumble slightly but stood her ground.

"But, I thought-" she started.

"I don't trust you, and clearly Vilkas doesn't either. I need to know where you will be until I can make a decision." It was evident that she was accustomed to having the last word in every conversation, but Caspus was determined to best her. "After all, you did trespass on our property," he said with the most patronizing tone he could muster and enjoyed her look of annoyance that followed.

* * *

Vilkas closed the door with a silent thud. Farkas had been confused at escorting a prisoner to the dungeon but, true to his untroubled nature, had not questioned the order. His brother may be slow and sometimes downright stupid, but it was at times like these that he really appreciated his brother's personality.

Caspus still sat at the table and Vilkas felt nervous. He knew the Harbinger would question him concerning the Thief. _Her name is Ronja_ , his mind helpfully suggested. He shook his head. It was easier to think of her as the Thief.

"Come Vilkas, sit down." Vilkas obliged, not even bothered he was being summoned like a dog. Caspus had picked out a bottle of mead, correctly discerning that this was a conversation that needed alcohol. He poured two mugs and handed one to the Nord.

"Now, tell me what you now about Ronja."

"She broke in to my room," he tried.

"Yes, I know. You woke me up in the middle of the night shouting just that."

Vilkas winced at the Harbinger's patient tone. It was very reminiscent of Kodlak's, who had been the closest thing to a father Vilkas ever had. Now, there was another older man, sitting on the very same chair and looking at him appraisingly. Despite his age and maturity, the Nord felt as though he were ten years old again, and had just been caught lying about who had stolen the last sweetroll. He'd blamed Farkas, but Tilma was not so easily fooled. He'd been impressed with her abilities until a few hours later when he realized he had crumbs on the front of his shirt and icing smeared on his cheek.

Nowadays, he rarely indulged in eating sweetrolls, but still wiped his mouth with a nervous gesture as he sat opposite the Harbinger.

"I met her in Markarth, several months back. I was on a mission, when I got in trouble." And so, the whole story came spilling out. The momentous panic at getting caught, the relief at being saved and then finally the humiliation of being robbed. Caspus had been absent, fighting Alduin at the time, but he refrained from mentioning it out loud. It would cause unnecessary tension in the Imperial.

When the story was finished, Vilkas was mortified to her Caspus chuckling. "Sorry," he apologized. "It's just that… you were _robbed_! You!"

"I was outsmarted," Vilkas defended himself before realizing that did not lessen the embarrassment.

"Yeah, I gathered that she's clever. I'm willing to bet that people underestimate her and then have to pay the price for their ignorance. I've seen her type before." Caspus swallowed a mouthful of mead before continuing. "Cyrodiil is full of them, but people of her caliber are rare in Skyrim."

It took Vilkas an embarrassingly long time to figure out the not-so-subtle insult in that statement, something he blamed on the mead and the late hour. "Hey!" he protested weakly.

Caspus ignored him. "I think it's the cold. It freezes your brains, turning into mush," he smiled teasingly.

"I take no offence to that, since in most cases, I agree."

They drank in silence for some time. Vilkas could feel his eyelids growing heavier and his movements turned sluggish. "I'm off to bed," he announced before exiting the room. The Harbinger gave no indication of having heard him, instead staring into his mug as though in deep thought. Vilkas did not envy him. Though, if it were up to him; he'd keep the Thief locked up and throw away the key. Not that that would stop her.

It was close to midday before Vilkas woke up. He neglected breakfast in favor of grabbing some cheese and smoked meat, not wanting to answer the questions that surely would be raised about last night's burglary. He knocked on Caspus' door, waiting for an answer before pushing the door open.

The Harbinger looked haggard, and several years older than his true age. He couldn't have slept a wink all night, but smiled at Vilkas as he entered.

"I'm glad you're here! I've reached a decision about our impromptu visitor."

Vilkas did not have a good feeling about this.

"You, Farkas and Erik will accompany her to this fort, scope it out and then return here. If she's telling the truth, then we will return in full force to strike them down."

The Nord knew this was a sensible plan, but could not help but to point out what he thought were obvious flaws.

"Why does she have to go? She can just stay in the dungeons."

"I'm confident she will refuse to tell us the whereabouts of this fort, and since she has infiltrated it before, it will be easier," Caspus replied.

"Then why do _I_ have to go? I can't stand her!"

"You have to go. You're the only one who knows what she's capable of. I will tell the others, but you know it firsthand and will therefore always be on your guard around her," Caspus explained, apparently having thought this through.

"Fine," Vilkas sighed. "But no mention of the meeting in Markarth."

The Imperial smirked. "Of course."

Vilkas was halfway out the door before the sound of Caspus' voice stopped him.

"One more thing. I want you to make sure she comes back here with you. She is dangerous and I need to turn her in to the proper authorities."

Finally, something Vilkas could agree with! "Yes, master."

The Harbinger gave him a smile that didn't quite reach the eyes and withheld his standard comeback. That, if anything, filled Vilkas with dismay.


	5. Chapter 5

**Five.**

* * *

Ronja hadn't been entirely sure that she'd convinced the elderly Imperial of her sincerity, a rare occurrence when it came to her. She had presented her case calmly, making sure to press on all the key points that were sure to gain his sympathy and cooperation. However, he appeared to see right through her schemes. She was still not entirely satisfied with the turnout, but as long as her brother was safe, she didn't care. She could improvise if the need arose.

The upside of the plan was the individuals he had decided to send with her. She had expected Vilkas, of course – the man was pouting like a teenager and refused to even look at her. It was rather amusing. The other man, Farkas, was obviously his brother and seemed rather gullible. He would be an easy target. The last man was a redheaded Nord, several years younger than herself. She was not sure what to make of Erik yet, as he seemed shy and rather cowed by the presence of the other Companions. Though, in her experience, the younger they were, the more foolish and naïve.

She had spent two nights in the dungeons before they came to collect her, resisting the urge of breaking out. Honestly, the lockpick had been _right there_! No guard would be as stupid as to give a prisoner a lockpick to eat their food with. She was determined it had been a test from the Harbinger, and against her very nature, she had stayed put. In his own words, as a sign of good faith.

They were determined not to underestimate her, proven by the fact that her weapons had not been returned to her. She scoffed at that; her favorite weapon was not her dagger, or even the bow. No, everyone had different pressure points, like exposed nerve endings waiting to be targeted. Her gift was to seek them out and press _hard_. Still, considering the landscape they were travelling through, she would feel more assured at having something sharp, other than her wit, to fight off the local fauna with.

She had prepared before breaking into Jorrvaskr, switching her usual leather armor for a warmer one, lined with fur. In one of the shops in Whiterun, she had also _acquired_ a warm cloak that would protect against the brunt of the cold. She was a Nord, however, and was therefore not too worried about the exposure from the elements.

She fiddled with the silver chain around her neck in an unconscious gesture, catching the interest of one cantankerous Companion. He appeared to recognize the amethyst necklace, if his expression were any clue. She made an exaggerated gesture of pulling it out from the folds of her clothes so it rested visibly on her sternum, gleaming mockingly in the sunlight.

"I had it enchanted, you know. Fortified pickpocketing," she teased.

His answering growl was rewarding to Ronja's ears. She enjoyed his anger. The other two looked on curiously at the seemingly strange exchange.

"Are you a member of the Thieves Guild?" Erik asked, seemingly unable to stand the tense atmosphere any longer.

"No."

"Why not? You are thief, aren't you?"

"I don't really play well with others," she sighed. "They fence my goods every now and then, but most of the time I tend to avoid them. They don't really like me that much."

"Thieves don't like you? I'm surprised even _they_ have standards." Ronja smirked at Vilkas' surly comment. He'd be surprised at how likeable she could be if she just put her mind to it. Or on the other hand, he would be familiar with it. Flashes of their encounter in Markarth flitted through her mind and only served to strengthen her feeling of empowerment and control.

She wondered how much the others knew about her. Vilkas would not have told them about their meeting in Markarth, she thought. He seemed adamant in preserving his image and reputation, and she knew he was embarrassed by being outwitted. They might know about her breaking into Jorrvaskr, however. Farkas would certainly know, since he had been the one to lock her up. He was surprisingly gentle for such a big man. When 'escorting' her, he had grabbed her by her upper arm and steered her off to the dungeons. He hadn't touched her inappropriately, like so many others tried when they had her in their reach. Even his grip on her arm hadn't left a mark.

Ronja found herself falling behind, with Vilkas watching her every step. She was unused to walking long distances, and definitely not in the pace Farkas set. Most cities had a stable outside their gates and stealing a horse without anyone noticing was child's play. She was fed up with walking and her stomach rumbled noisily. Were they not planning to stop at all?

"Where do we make camp?" Erik asked, undoubtedly having heard her stomach's complaints, and she sent him a grateful smile, which was bolstered by his responding blush.

"If we press hard enough we could make it to the Nightgate Inn before dark. I don't know about you, but I prefer to sleep indoors this far north," Farkas replied.

"And it will also be more difficult to sneak off," Vilkas added and Ronja rolled her eyes.

"They have my brother. Now, I know nothing about the relationship between you and your brother, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to save mine," she said.

Farkas smiled appreciatively at her. "So would we. I must say, I admire your courage and resourcefulness."

"He's all I have left. Our parents died when we were children and I've been taking care of him ever since," her voice unconsciously softened and she smiled wistfully as she spoke of her brother. Normally, she would do this deliberately in order to increase their feelings of sympathy, but this time she didn't need to. She sent a silent prayer to whatever gods would listen that her brother was alright.

"How old is he?" Erik asked.

"Twenty."

Vilkas snorted. "He is a man, then. The way you go on about him made him out to be a child. You shouldn't coddle him so much."

Her anger rose at his words. "Yes, I'm sure anyone would leave their kin in a fort full of murderous crazy people. Not everyone is as heartless as you." She did not normally allow herself to be baited by others, but everything about this man just simply _infuriated_ her.

There were several other travelers on the road, but they gave the Companions a wide berth as soon as they realized who they were. A Khajiit caravan stopped to the side, allowing them to pass undisturbed and one of them nodded at Ronja in familiarity. She winked back, something that did not go unnoticed by Vilkas.

They reached a fork in the road and Farkas went east, towards the Nightgate Inn. An hour later they were in the deep of the forest when there was a sudden grunting sound, accompanied by the cracking of several twigs. The warriors drew their weapons whereas Ronja stood to the side, feeling hopelessly defenseless, despite the wall of muscular men in front of her.

"It could be a bear," Farkas said.

The grunting grew nearer and a white figure charged towards them. Ronja flinched. It was _huge_.

"It's not a bear!" Erik cried and Ronja couldn't help but to feel annoyed. Obvious much?

The troll stopped a few paces from the group, roaring ferociously as it pounded the ground with its massive fists. Ronja could feel the vibrations through her thick-soled boots even from where she was standing. Vilkas had drawn his bow and she felt envious. She sincerely wished for a bow right now, preferably one with a fire enchantment. He notched an arrow and released it. The arrow hit home in the beast's shoulder but didn't even appear to pierce its thick hide, as it simply fell to the ground when the troll moved again.

Erik had also exchanged his sword for a bow and was slightly more successful in his shooting, while Farkas taunted the beast to keep its attention on him. One of Erik's arrows pierced through the troll's left eye and it roared in pain, turning to face this new threat. The young Nord backed up and flung himself to the side as the troll charged. Unfortunately, he stumbled into Ronja, who was knocked to the ground and ended up on her back right in front of the beast.

Terrified, she tried to put more distance between them, using her feet and forearms to propel herself backwards, kicking up snow as she went. Her agility brought her further and further away until she felt stone at her back. She looked up at its inhuman face and screamed as it struck her leg. She curled up into a ball, cradling her head between her arms as she prepared for the next blow.

Which never came. The troll roared again, and then all fell silent. She lifted her head from her knees and looked up into the face of Farkas. The troll lay dead a few feet away, pierced by an enormous longsword.

"Are you hurt?" Farkas asked, extending his hand. She took it and rose to her feet. Her right thigh felt sore where the troll had struck her, but she had little difficulty standing. Her legs shook, but she doubted it was from the injury.

"He hit my leg, but I think it was just a glancing blow. Nothing major," she smiled, trying to appear more assured than she actually felt. She wanted run away and hide where no one would find her.

"I'm so sorry!" Erik ran up to them, looking frantic. "I thought it would kill you for sure!"

"Don't worry about it," she placated him. Ronja looked to Vilkas who was standing over the troll, attempting to dislodge the sword that pierced through its chest. At first she believed it was Vilkas who had slayed the beast and saved her life, but then noticed he was still carrying his sword. Farkas, however, who stood next to her and still held her hand – since every time he tried to let go she started to wobble precariously – was weaponless.

No, Ronja did not blame Erik for what could have been a close brush with death, but rather the man standing apart from them. He had not given her anything to defend herself with, and had failed in protecting her himself, as he swore he would when she had argued his decision. He had almost killed her in his adamant need to prove she was untrustworthy.

The rest of the hike to the inn was uneventful. Erik was still apologetic and offered her his shoulder to lean on, something she was grateful for as the leg started throbbing after a while. They were slower now than before and reached the inn well after twilight.

Paying for two rooms and four meals, Farkas then asked the innkeeper for some medical supplies. Erik helped her to one of the beds and turned away awkwardly when she started to undo her trousers and pulling them down to her knees. She would have teased him had she not been so curious to see the damage on her thigh. There was an ugly-looking purple bruise, nearly encompassing the entire outer side of her thigh, from knee to hip. She was lucky the troll hadn't succeeded in a direct hit – it would have snapped her femur clean off, like a dry twig used for kindling.

Farkas returned with some rolls of cloth as well as a bowl of juniper berries. She took the ingredients from him, crushed a handful of berries and soaked the cloth in the juices before tying the strip of cotton around her thigh.

"That looks bad." Farkas sounded sympathetic.

She managed not to grimace as she tightened the knot. "I'll be fine, don't worry." She smiled cheekily, not wanting their pity.

"I've never fought a troll before," Erik said.

"Me neither," Ronja admitted. "I usually travel on horseback, so I rarely fight any animals. Or beasts, or whatever they qualify as."

"Especially not unarmed," Erik said with a grimace.

"Yeah."

Vilkas entered the small room and declared that supper was ready. Farkas and Erik left the room immediately, evidently famished. She stood to pull up her trousers again, fastening the straps without looking at the warrior. The air in the room felt tense as a bowstring ready to be released.

"Erik and I will take the other room, while you and Farkas sleep here. I trust that will be acceptable?" he asked her.

She nodded. She had no problems sharing a room with a man, as she trusted that Farkas wouldn't do anything untoward. Besides, in Skyrim you had to sleep with your clothes on or you would freeze to death. Even indoors.

She started limping towards the door, where Vilkas stood blocking the way out to the main hall. He moved slightly to the side, allowing her to pass. When she was close enough to feel his plate armor brush against her arm, he grabbed her hand and she froze, her body alert to defend herself if need to be. She was surprised to feel the hilt of a dagger slipping into her hand. She looked up at him incredulously, seeking eye contact with the warrior for the first time in several hours.

"Please be more careful," he whispered before stalking off.

Ronja watched him walk away, confused beyond words.


	6. Chapter 6

**Six.  
**

* * *

Vilkas had been hesitant to leave the inn the next day. He worried that the Thief would be a hindrance to their journey. He was also feeling the smallest bit of remorse. Wanting to strip the Thief of as much dignity as he could without physically hurting her, he had not considered the consequences of allowing a woman wearing only light armor traipsing around unarmed in the Skyrim wilderness.

The troll incident had shocked him enough to slip her a small dagger. He hoped she understood the implications of handing her a weapon when his brother was to sleep in the same room as her. As a kindness, he had considered staying at the inn for an additional day, allowing her to recover properly. When he witnessed her pickpocketing the innkeeper, he quickly changed his mind.

Vilkas wouldn't be surprised if she had wanted him to catch her in the act. He had interfered as soon as he saw, storming up to her and gripping the hand that had previously been inside the other man's pocket and shook it until she loosened the grip on what she'd taken. She had stolen exactly one septim. Nothing more, nothing less. Her expression as he gave her an impressive lecture on right and wrong, made him only angrier. No one should look that smug when they were caught committing a crime.

Thankfully, the innkeeper seemed content letting the Companions handle the Thief, but had, in a not-so-subtle way, told them to leave before he changed his mind.

Vilkas had the sneaking suspicion that the Thief had bested him. Again.

So they journeyed to Fort Dunstad, which were only a few hours walk from the inn. After much cajoling and bargaining (and some threatening), the Thief had finally divulged the name and location of the Silver Hand homestead. She was able to keep pace with them, but walked slightly stiffer than usual – not that he watched her now, or had paid attention to her the day before. The poultice she had applied to her leg seemed to have done its job.

In the afternoon, they caught their first glimpse of the fort, a stark contrast of grey stones against the soft white snow. Farkas unsheathed his sword, gripped it in both hands before stepping out on the road, only to be dragged back by his armor.

"What are you doing?" the Thief hissed at him.

The warrior started to form a reply, but was interrupted.

" _Warriors_!" she exclaimed in an exasperated tone. "You can't just run headfirst into a fort full of bandits! They have both cover and the higher ground. You'd be dead before coming within ten feet of the place."

"Then what do you suggest?" Vilkas asked. She appeared surprised to find he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. Though not as surprised as he felt. He told himself that he wanted to do this as subtly as possible, and she was the stealth expert. It was therefore logical to at least hear her opinion.

She pointed to the dark clouds gathering on the horizon. "I suggest we wait for the snow to limit their vision, if we can wait 'til nightfall – even better. Then we start scoping out the perimeter."

Farkas and Erik nodded thoughtfully, but Vilkas looked doubtful. "Our vision will be as limited as theirs."

"True, but they're not expecting us to be here, which gives us a distinct advantage. Besides, they will most likely light fires and torches, aiding us in spotting them and making it impossible for them to see in the dark," she explained.

"You've really thought this through." Erik sounded impressed.

She raised her eyebrows and gave him a look. "Well, it is my _job_."

Vilkas wanted this over with as soon as possible, and voted against waiting until dark. The rest of her plan seemed reasonable, however.

"We should split up in groups of two. We'll cover more ground that way," she said.

"I'll go with you," Vilkas quickly interrupted before anyone could say differently. He didn't trust neither Erik nor Farkas to handle the Thief if she decided to scarper.

Erik and Farkas doubled back the way they came, approaching the fort from the south while Vilkas and the Thief circled around the small mountain to the east of the compound. They wanted to keep to higher ground and stick with natural cover as much as they were able, at least until night fell.

* * *

"You know, this would be a lot easier if you just allowed yourself to trust me," she said as they were crouching down behind a cluster of rocks.

"Give me one reason as to why in Oblivion I should trust you."

"I saved your cover in Markarth. Maybe even saved your life; those Silver-bloods can be quite cruel."

"You robbed and threatened me!"

"I did not rob you. I said I'd pay you back, didn't I?" the smile in her voice was evident and Vilkas was suddenly aware of how close she was. They had huddled together behind cover in order to preserve what little heat they had.

"What's it like?" she asked, elaborating her question at his confused look. "Being a werewolf?"

He took a moment to answer. Being a werewolf meant freedom. No armor, no shoes and no weapons; only your natural assets protecting you from harm. Teeth and claws had worked for animals since the dawn of time. When he was a werewolf, life was easier. There was no right or wrong, only instinct.

When he was a human with the beastblood coursing through his veins, life was decidedly more difficult. The instincts and reactions of a wolf did not sit well with the human part of his brain. When he woke up after a night of rampage, only to find himself covered in blood, he had felt himself drifting further and further away from humanity.

Vilkas realized she was still waiting for an answer. "Terrifying," he finally replied, his voice thick with emotion. He was reluctant to elaborate any further and hoped she wouldn't press the issue. She didn't say anything, only placed a comforting hand on his arm. Evidently, his confession had been transparent enough to garner her sympathy. Nevertheless, her touch was strangely soothing and he felt reassured that even the coldest of thieves were capable of small displays of empathy.

They sat huddled on the cliff side for hours, surveying the lay of the land, counting the number of people milling about and memorizing the guards' patrolling schedules. Vilkas was reluctant to admit that she knew what she was doing and that this mission would have been a lot more difficult, not to mention impossible without her. He didn't voice his opinions, reluctant to inflate her ego even further.

When darkness fell, they snuck back to the predetermined meeting point where they had agreed to rendezvous with Farkas and Erik, a spot in the mountains with a high jagged cliff which shielded them from view of the fort. His brother greeted him with a curt nod before returning to the discussion he had with the younger Nord. From his actions, Farkas appeared to be instructing him on the proper procedure of evasive maneuvers.

"I'll just go back to wipe out any footprints we made and make sure we weren't followed," Vilkas said and stalked off. The woman was the only one who acknowledged this with a slight smile. It felt strange.

He returned to camp half an hour later only to find it empty. He was confused at first, but when he saw Farkas' body down by his bedroll, he froze. To the left, Erik lay half-hidden behind his pack, also seemingly lifeless. There was no sign of the Thief. The cooking pan was bubbling away over the campfire and seemed to mock him. _Poison_. Of course, she had poisoned them and then snuck off into the night. How could he be so stupid? He had given her more and more leeway, which she had accepted happily until she betrayed him again.

His first instinct was to go find her, but as he spun around in anger he suddenly remembered his brother. Crouching down beside him, his fingers searched for a pulse. There, was the slow and steady beat, much like Vilkas' own. Reassured, he stood to check on Erik when he noticed movement just outside the area illuminated by the fire.

There she was, eyes burning like the fire reflected in her eyes. Her dark hair tumbled over one shoulder as Vilkas was on her in a flash. He gripped her upper arms and snarled in her face, much like the wolf he claimed he no longer was.

"Where were you!?"

Her arms came up between them, her hands flattening against his chest as to push him away. He didn't give her the chance as he shook her again.

"Where were you!?"

"Brother?" he heard a voice behind him and spun around, the woman still in his arms.

"She poisoned you and snuck off!" he spat, as a way of explanation. "I knew she couldn't be trusted!" By now Erik had regained consciousness as well and stood staring at the exchange with wide eyes.

"Poisoned?" Farkas sounded nonplussed. "We haven't eaten anything yet! We… well, we must've fallen asleep," he finished, looking embarrassed.

Vilkas felt some of the anger leaving him, but turned again to the Thief he was still holding fast, lest she escape again. When she didn't answer right away, averting her eyes from his searching gaze, he knew he'd been right in thinking she'd tried to run. Her next words made him feel like a fool, however.

"We've been sitting hiding in the mountains all day. I had to… answer the call of nature," she said quietly, the words almost forced out of her mouth.

He didn't know what to answer to that and the silence grew charged and heavy.

"Let go of the girl, Vilkas." His brother came up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder and tugging on one of the hands that still clutched her to him. He released her instantly and took two steps back. He wiped his mouth nervously and looked to her. She didn't look smug or teasing. She didn't even look angry. She just looked at him in a way that made him feel small and insignificant. Ashamed.

"I-" he started but his voice caught. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I apologize. It seems I have judged you prematurely and been very biased in my actions concerning you."

She nodded once, seemingly accepting the apology. This defused some of the tension in the air, but far from all of it. She brushed past him and started kicking snow over the emerging flames underneath the cooking pot. He barely listened as she berated the others for lighting the fire and risking giving away their position to the Silver Hand.

He came up behind her and she stiffened. It annoyed him for some reason. Vilkas knew that he was nothing like his more even-tempered brother, but since being freed of the beastblood, he'd felt less prone to outbursts of rage. Even back then, he'd never been violent, especially not towards someone who was not currently threatening him.

Erik reported their findings from the surveillance of the fort, and Vilkas was pleased to hear they were similar to what he had found. Well, he and the Thief. Talos, had it only been a few hours since they sat pressed together, her hand resting on his arm? It felt like longer. He looked to her, but she stared straight ahead, rebuffing his feeble attempts at reconciliation. Vilkas sighed; back to square one again.

"It appears as though the Silver Hand are still residing within the fort. However, as there are less enemies than we predicted, I think we can risk approaching even closer," he said to the group. "We are at an advantage here, and I'd like to keep it that way. Stay quiet and stay low."

They efficiently packed up the campsite and descended the mountain, Farkas in the lead with the others trailing after. They had all been surprised at how good he was at moving stealthily. Vilkas hung back and approached Ronja just before she left.

"I really am sorry," he whispered. She still refused to meet his eyes, staring stubbornly in front of her. "Ronja," he prompted. That caught her attention and she twisted her head to look at him. She smiled at him, a smile that was neither smug nor mocking, but a real smile that he had trouble associating with her. It was then Vilkas realized that he'd called her by name. It was the first time he'd done that and he ignored the implications his mind was screaming at him.

They approached from the northern entrance, the cluster of trees providing natural cover and twisting the dark shadows. The snowfall had lessened, but heavy clouds still adorned the sky, concealing whatever light that might come from the two moons. He saw there were a couple of archers on the walls, but all of them carried a torch and he was confident the group would not be spotted. There were ground patrols, as well, but so few and far in between that they needn't have existed at all. He relaxed marginally. After what they had discovered inside Swindler's Den, Vilkas had been worried they had reformed and emerged shrewder and more prepared than before. The lack of proper guards told him a different story. The Silver Hand was as lax as they always had been.

He barely had finished the thought before an arrow whistled through the air and landed in the snow between Farkas and Erik. He reached back to draw his sword, but stopped as a voice behind him said:

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

He turned slowly, finding a dozen men and women stepping out from the barricades and the woods behind them. Looking up, Vilkas saw several archers, all with arrows trained on the small group of intruders.

"Surrender your weapons," the person spoke again. He was a large Redguard man with his silver sword was trained on Ronja. Vilkas heard the implied 'or else…' in the man's statement and loosened the straps that kept his scabbard tied to his back. He threw it on the ground and withdrew back, tugging Ronja behind him as he went. Thuds and mutters of discontent behind him told him Farkas and Erik had laid down their weapons as well.

"Well, well, well. No less than three wolves caught in our trap."

Vilkas growled. Of course it had been a trap. He knew he should have trusted his first instincts when he noticed the lack of guards.

"All thanks to you, little one," the Redguard continued, looking at someone behind him.

 _No_.

He turned around, disbelieving. Ronja stood, hands clenched into fists and staring defiantly at the Silver Hand. "We had a deal," she hissed.

"And I will honor it," the Redguard replied, lifting his fingers in a 'come here' gesture with his left hand, directed at someone further away, inside the compound.

Two men exited the fort. The first one looked younger and had his hands tied in front of him, walking slowly and clumsily, as if in great pain. The other man walked half a step behind him, pushing the other every now and then to make him walk faster. He was pale, thin and very filthy. Ronja broke away from the circle and darted to the young man's side, supporting him as his legs crumbled beneath him, threatening to bring him to his knees.

"Viggo," she whispered in an urgent tone. "Viggo! It's me."

He appeared to barely hear her, his head lolling uselessly to the side before resting on her shoulder. She withdrew a dagger – the one Vilkas had given her the night before, to defend herself in case she was attacked. She cut off the cords tying his wrists together and cupped his face in her hands. "It's okay. You're safe now." Vilkas could hardly breathe for the pressure in his chest and felt as though she had thrust that very same dagger in between his shoulder blades. She had played them all along. She didn't need help to break out her brother, she just needed leverage and the Silver Hand would let him go. The leverage being the ability to bring the Companions trustingly into an obvious trap.

Ronja slung one of her brother's arms around her shoulders, securing it with one of her own arms and looped the other around his waist. Carefully not looking at anyone, especially not the three Companions she had just betrayed, the two siblings made their way into the dark night.

 _No._

"Ronja," Vilkas prompted. He couldn't believe she would just leave them here! She had spent several days trying to convince him to trust her and when he finally allowed himself to do just that, she threw it back in his face. The darkness started to envelop the two Nord siblings, as if shielding them from the accusing stares emanating from behind them.

"You traitor!" he cried. " _Ronja!_ "

She didn't look back.

* * *

A/N: I'm going against my own resolve, posting this chapter before I'm finished with the next one. But seeing as that chapter just doesn't want to be written… So heads up, might take some time until chapter seven.

Thank you for your nice comments! They make me all gushy inside :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Mentions of torture in this chapter, though nothing graphic.**

 **Seven.**

* * *

Viggo woke up with an intense pain in his ribs; as though he had been carried across the back of a horse. It made him clench his teeth to not cry out in pain. The pain was nothing new – after several weeks he'd gotten used to it, but the softness beneath him revealed he was no longer inside his cell. Unwilling to open his eyes just yet, he extended his other senses in an attempt to figure out his location.

The smell was different – instead of the moldy, damp air inside the prison there was a wooden, earthy smell that he associated with comfort. He was warm too – something he hadn't been for longer than he cared to admit and he could hear the quiet murmur of other people in the vicinity.

Was he dead?

The thought forced his eyelids open and for a few terrifying seconds, he thought he'd gone blind. There was nothing. Pitch-black nothingness. The Nord gasped in terror, forcing air into his lungs to make sure he could still breathe. This aggravated his sore ribs and he whimpered in pain just as a door to his far right was pushed open. The light behind the silhouetted person blinded him and he clamped his eyes shut again, but the knowledge he could see calmed his nerves slightly.

The intruder hurried up to his side and sat down next to him, placing a soothing hand on his clammy skin.

"Viggo?" the person prompted. The voice was familiar to him. During his captivity in the fort, this was the voice he'd wished he could hear just one more time.

"Shhh, it's okay. You're safe now."

It was her voice, rather than her words that calmed his impending panic attack. He forced his breathing to slow and his body to relax, a trick his sister had taught him after their parents died, when he was young and prone to nightmares.

He opened his eyes again and the darkness seemed less oppressive now. He was in a bed, possibly in an inn and Ronja was sitting next to him, holding his hand between both of hers. A feeling of nostalgia hit him and he felt four years old again, waking screaming as he watched their parents being ripped from him forever. Only this time, there was no false memory violating his consciousness. This time, the nightmare had been real.

"How are you feeling?"

He tried responding to her inquiry, but his voice failed him and all that came out was a strangled croak. A telltale clink of a flask appeared at his lips. Thirst, as he had never felt before, gripped him and he drank greedily and felt instantly invigorated by the cool liquid washing over his parched tongue.

"More," he demanded when the flask was removed. He was horrified by the raspy quality of his voice. It didn't even sound like him. It sounded like one of those disheveled people that sat on the streets in dirty rags, begging people passing by for money. As a child, he'd pitied them and wanted to help. One time he'd reached in to his pockets and procured a single septim to give the emaciated man on the streets. The man had been grateful and started asking questions about him. Excited to have made a friend, Viggo had started telling the man everything but Ronja had appeared and gripped his hand none-too-gently and tugged him away, telling him to never _ever_ speak to strangers on the streets again. It wasn't until about ten years later that Viggo realized his sister had been right and what could have happened if she hadn't shown up when she did.

"Soon," Ronja soothed. "I just want to give the healing potion a few moments to kick in first."

So the rejuvenating feeling didn't only stem from the refreshment of water, as he'd originally thought, but something far more powerful. A flickering light told him she had lit a candle somewhere in the room, bathing it in a warm glow. He took in his sister's face. She looked as he remembered, though considerably more haggard than last he'd seen her, but with a sweet smile on her lips.

"Did I die?" he asked. He feared he was still in that cursed cell and this was a mere dream. A cruel dream, where Ronja had saved him and he could feel a soft bed underneath him and a warm blanket covering his broken body. As he regained more of his senses, he could smell the pine that was used to build the house, and a pot of food cooking inside the kitchen.

"No. You're safe now, Viggo. I promise."

He released a breath he didn't know he held and inhaled deeply, ignoring the protests from his bruised ribs. Fresh, untainted air. Ronja gave him another flask of healing potion, but this time he could hold it himself and returned it to her when it was empty.

"You came for me." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Since the death of their parents, Ronja had started taking care of him, providing food and clothes and shelter. He knew, even at a young age, that her methods had been far from honest, but it was still better than the alternative. Slowly, but surely, his sister had claimed the role of caretaker, until their parents had all but faded away. He couldn't even remember what his mother looked like anymore. Whenever he tried to picture her, Ronja's face took her place.

Of course she'd come for him. She always had, and was fierce as a mother bear protecting its cubs when it came to him. Most of their lives it had been them against the world.

"Do you remember anything?" Ronja asked.

He slowly sat up, rebuffing her attempts of helping. "I remember they took me from the cell and then I was outside. You were there, surrounded by several people. Then we left and someone was shouting. That's all I remember."

She looked slightly mournful at his admission, though he didn't understand why.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Dawnstar. We walked as far as you were able from the fort, but when you lost consciousness I was able to procure a horse to carry us the rest of the way."

He grimaced at her ridiculous phrasing. "You _procured_ a horse?"

"There was a traveler on the road, all too sympathetic to the plight of a helpless young woman and her injured brother," she said with an air of casual disdain.

"You stole his horse," Viggo guessed.

She snorted indelicately. "We needed it more than him. He turned out to be a rather foresighted fellow, as the saddle bags were filled potions of different kinds. Lucky for us, no?"

Viggo shook his head. Before his capture, he had tried to make money by becoming a mercenary; retrieving items for people and escorting civilians across Skyrim and such. His sister had never really freed herself from her lifestyle of lying and thieving, even when it was no longer necessary for their survival and it was starting to bother him.

"Those potions and the horse saved your life, Viggo!" she snapped, angered at his apparent distaste for her actions.

"That man probably would have helped us anyway if you'd only asked him! You didn't need to steal from him."

"I just saved you from a fort full of murderous, disillusioned lunatics and you have the nerve to question my actions?"

Taken aback by the vehemence in her voice, Viggo was silent.

"I'm sorry," Ronja said, regretting her outburst.

They were quiet for a few moments, the room heavy with tension. Viggo looked her in the eyes, so very similar to his own.

"Those bandits snatched us just outside of Dawnstar. They imprisoned us together but picked us off one by one. Marcus, Zalas and Shazra are dead! I heard them die, Ronja." His voice shook, but he licked his chapped lips before continuing.

"They tortured them. I could hear their screams and I knew that eventually they would come for me. It's not a fate I would wish upon my worst enemy."

Ronja looked crestfallen and he swore he could see moisture gathering in her eyes.

"I'm grateful that you saved me, I really am. I just wish that this hadn't lessened your opinion on people even further."

He was startled to see tears streaming down his sister's face. He reached up to cup her cheek, but she withdrew from him and messily wiped her cheeks with her hands, leaving streaks of dirt in their wake. She didn't seem to notice and Viggo was rattled to see his older sister, usually so calm and collected, break down in front of him. He could count the times he'd witnessed her cry – actually cry, and not fake it in order to garner sympathy – on one hand and still have fingers left.

"Ronja… I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" he fumbled for words.

"It's not your fault," she interrupted. "I… I did something."

He sat back and waited for her to elaborate.

She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. "When I learnt about what had happened to you, I went to Whiterun to get the Companions' help to get you out…"

* * *

The smell reminded him of the carnage inside Swindler's Den. There was this sweet, sickening stench that spoke of blood, vomit and other bodily fluids. It permeated the room, coating the walls like sticky smog. Even if Vilkas knew, it was obvious they were underground, as the stale air never moved and never improved. The ubiquitous darkness that filled the room was dark and sinister, chased away only by the occasional torch or flickering candle lit by passing guards.

The Companions had been put in separate cells, each with a pile of straw so filthy Vilkas wasn't sure if it was intended as a bed or a latrine. Either way, he steered clear of it.

They were not quite alone in the prison, either. Across from them was a wood elf, though he had been dead for days, by the look of him. He was still chained to the wall, forced in a standing position with numerous injuries and dried blood decorating his body – likely put there by the spiky contraption that swung violently towards the wall when the handle was pulled. Vilkas wondered perversely if this was the fate that awaited him and his companions. Apparently, he wasn't the only one either.

"You think they'll do that to us?" Erik whispered, trying and failing to appear unconcerned, betrayed by the way his voice shook.

"I think we're safe for a few days at least. They think we're still werewolves," Farkas reassured him. "Only a fool would attempt to take down a werewolf without weakening him for a few days first."

"Oh. That's comforting. Does everyone know that the Circle are or used to be werewolves? It must be the worst kept secret in all of Skyrim," the red-haired Nord replied, sarcasm appearing to chase away his fear for a few seconds before returning in full force.

Vilkas silently agreed, but Farkas only chuckled. They were in prison cells, stripped of their weapons and armor, about to get tortured with no plausible way to escape and his brother was _laughing_? He usually appreciated his brother's unflappable ways. He was a fixed point in a world that never ceased to change. When life turned crazy, Farkas would always stay the same – an anchor that kept him stable. But surely did this situation warranted at least some sort of reaction? Either he was too stupid to understand what was happening (something Vilkas deemed unlikely, Farkas was far from intelligent but just as far from being an idiot) or he had become unhinged by the events.

"How can you laugh in this position? The Harbinger won't expect us back for at least a few days and by the time help arrives we will be dead!" he hissed at his twin.

"I'm sure we will be out soon enough," Farkas replied calmly.

Something was up. He bore a confident smirk and there was a glint in his eye that spoke of secrets kept. His brother had never kept anything from him – preferring the honest and direct approach to life. It made him instantly on edge.

"You know something," he said slowly.

When Farkas didn't reply, only snorted and turned away from him, Vilkas knew he was right.

"Tell me, brother. What is your plan?" He needed to hear it and thoroughly check it for possible traps and snares.

"Ronja will be back soon, and then she'll break us out."

Vilkas had been wrong. Farkas was stupid. A senseless, moronic _imbecile_.

"She will never come back here! She got what she wanted and had us completely fooled!" he shouted, gripping the steel bars with enough force that his knuckles turned white. "Even though I knew what she was," he added as an afterthought.

Farkas shook his head. "No, the plan was for them to catch us, and they would release her brother. Once he was safe, she'd come back here and break us out!" he explained.

Vilkas thought he had blacked out for a few seconds. The rage that overtook him was similar to that of turning into a wolf. Not long after his first turning he had woken in cold sweat, disoriented and sluggish; convinced he had turned in his sleep and gone on a killing rampage on the streets of Whiterun. Over time, the nightmares turned fewer and further in between, but they never disappeared completely. The loss of control he felt right now was a painful reminder of what he thought he had left behind. He was even growling menacingly at the man in the cell furthest from him.

"You… you made a plan with her?" he grunted out between clenched teeth.

Farkas seemed curious at his brother's sudden mood swing and the way his face was turning an alarming shade of purple. "Yeah, after we scouted the fort and you went to wipe out our tracks. She told me about the deal she made with the Silver Hand and was convinced it was the only way to get her brother out. We decided to play right into their hands."

This time Vilkas actually snarled, sounding more and more like a caged animal than a man. "You played right into _her_ hands, you mean! She doesn't care about what happens with us, all she wanted was to get her brother!"

He knew there had been something suspicious about the woman when he had arrived back at camp, even though his conclusion at the time had been faulty. Despite his current rage, he suddenly remembered there had been a third person in the camp.

"Did you know about this?" He turned to Erik, who stood caught between the arguing brothers with a nervous look on his face.

"N-no, I swear! The Harbinger told us not to put too much trust in Ronja, despite how nice she seemed."

Farkas snorted dismissively. "There is nothing wrong with her. Sure, a little too eager to steal things, but a good person at heart."

Vilkas hoped his brother counted himself lucky there was another cell between them, and that he had no chance to reach him, as all the Nord wanted was to wrap his hands around Farkas' neck and squeeze the stupidity out of him.

"You utter, complete _idiot_!" he growled. "She doesn't care about anyone but herself and she will never _ever_ come back for us!"

Their escalating argument was interrupted by a clanking, metallic sound that turned out to be a man in heavy armor falling down the stairs, landing in an unmoving heap on the floor on the floor in front of their cells. A silent shadow followed the body, going completely unnoticed until she cleared her throat delicately and directed a pointed look at Vilkas, who stared dumbfounded back at her.

"Is this a bad time?"

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the wait! *hangs head in shame* This chapter was so hard to write and then I had trouble uploading it


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight.**

* * *

To say that Vilkas looked surprised would be a gross exaggeration. The warrior looked positively dumbstruck, staring at her with his jaw on the floor and eyes the size of shields. Ronja couldn't help the surge of satisfaction at having surprised him yet again. Leaving with Viggo, hearing his accusing cries echoing between the mountains had cut deeper than she was ready to admit to anyone, least of all herself.

She had heard the argument as she had infiltrated the prison – not really surprised at Vilkas' stance on her loyalty. Though she did enjoy his disbelief and gave him a sweet, if not mocking smile. He did not return it, but Ronja felt herself relaxing, the tension in her having gone unnoticed until it bled off her. He hadn't looked away and she met his challenging gaze with equal fervor, not wanting him to believer her intimidated.

Someone cleared his throat and Vilkas eyes snapped towards his brother, breaking the moment.

"I think someone owes someone an apology," the other twin said with an exaggerated air. He raised an eyebrow and stared his brother down.

Vilkas narrowed his eyes and glanced towards her before replying. "We're still imprisoned. I'll apologize when we're in the clear."

Ronja rolled her eyes. Stupid man and his stupid pride.

"Not to ruin the moment, but how are we going to get out?" Erik inquired with a placating smile.

Ronja giggled and produced a tension wrench and bunt of lock picks from the inside of her leather jerkin. She selected one and stepped up to Farkas' cell, starting to pick the lock with a flourish.

"Thief, remember?"

Farkas seemed to be the safest alternative. If Vilkas attacked her – which in all honesty wasn't that unlikely – when she opened the door, his brother would surely protect her. The lock opened with a click and the large man stepped out, surprising her by wrapping his thick arms around her and enveloping her in a crushing hug. She felt herself lifted off the ground and panicked for a few seconds before he put her back down. He was grinning broadly and slapped her shoulder in what he probably considered a friendly gesture. Ronja however, lost her balance and promptly dropped all of her tools on the floor.

"Sorry! Sorry," he apologized, and bent down to pick up her belongings. "I'm just so happy to see you again."

She felt the corners of her mouth tug and soon she was grinning back at him. Her chest felt constricted, too small for the emotions that welled up within her.

 _Unfamiliar_.

It was strange. She usually associated this emotion with her brother and him alone. She reserved other feelings for everyone else – contempt, amusement and smugness being the most prominent ones.

 _But not unpleasant._

To feel this way around a group of people she had known but a few days? Unthinkable. She was most likely nervous and the adrenaline coursing through her made her feel on edge.

She opened Erik's cell as well but when she stood in front of Vilkas she felt nervous again and she fumbled with the pick and it snapped in her hands. Cursing herself for her clumsiness she chose another, but barely put it in the lock before it too broke. _What in Oblivion?_ She quickly glanced up at the imprisoned warrior before concentrating on her task. And paused, before looking up again. Yes, he was laughing at her. There was no mistaking his expression, coupled with him casually leaning on the wall with crossed arms.

 _Bastard._

She didn't realize she had spoken the word out loud until she heard him chuckle. Luckily, the lock clicked just then and the door swung open. Vilkas stepped out, back straight and his head held high – as though he hadn't just been locked up in a foul-smelling prison cell and threatened to kill his only brother. He walked close to her, his greater height forcing her to raise her chin to keep his gaze. He probably wanted her to move away – in a show of dominance – but Ronja held her ground and his shoulder bumped against hers when he passed.

"So," he started, turning and looking appraisingly at her.

"So?" she shrugged.

"Well, I can only assume you have some brilliant, arrow-proof plan that you can't just wait to set in motion? We were imprisoned as part of your plan, as I understood it," he sneered.

"Hey now, brother –" Farkas started but was interrupted by his brother.

"Or is it your plan, Farkas? Divines hope it's not too intricate, then."

Apparently Vilkas had shed the last traces of surprise and humility, replacing it with his usual arrogant self. Ronja said as much to him, mirroring his unpleasant expression.

"In fact, I do have a plan. If you would all follow me to the top of the tower, please."

She didn't wait for a reply and simply strolled past the Companions and started ascending the stone steps. A scraping sound told her one of the men had taken the unconscious Silver Hand's weapon for his own.

"It's unwise to wander around in the enemy's holdfast unarmed," Vilkas spoke directly behind her.

"Your weapons and armor are upstairs, and besides – I doubt we will encounter any one inside," she insisted with a secretive smile. "You see, I have organized a distraction."

She had barely finished the sentence when the structure shook and stones and dirt fell upon them. She crouched down to keep her balance, but the warriors were not so fortunate and she grabbed the one closest to her – Vilkas – to keep him from hurtling down the stairs.

"What manner of distraction was that?" Erik asked.

"You'll see."

As she had predicted, they didn't encounter a single soul. Even the large room upstairs was completely devoid of people – save for the rotting corpse inside on the cages. Ronja swallowed uneasily, but regretted it immediately afterwards, as she swore she could taste the foul smell on her tongue. She suspected it to be one of Viggo's travelling companions and once again thanked the Divines that he was safe and sound.

She ignored the implications of the red-stained table in the middle of the room and turned her head, trying to locate a chest or wardrobe, anywhere they may have stashed the Companions' belongings. There was the possibility of the items having been discarded or even burnt, but Ronja doubted it. The Silver Hand had been robbing shipments of silver coming from Markarth for some time, but they were desperate for actual steel and iron.

There were long, scratching marks on the floor, starting from the middle of the room and leading up toward the darkest corner. It appeared as though something heavy had been pushed or dragged, leaving traces in the stone and dust. Tugging at an old musty tapestry, so faded its original color undetermined, revealed a heavy wooden chest underneath.

She withdrew another lock pick and inserted it inside the look with her tension wrench. This was one of the trickier locks, and she could feel the tension and stress rolling off from the men behind her. She knew she needed to hurry – the trembling of the stone tower testament of the time running out – but picking a lock when you were stressed was never a recipe for success.

When the fifth lock pick broke, tumbling to the floor alongside the pieces of the others, Ronja felt something give away inside her. She had but one lock pick left and her carefully crafted plan would shatter to pieces because she didn't bring enough picks. It was such a rookie mistake; one which would undermine their escape. Hopelessness welled up within her and she could feel a pressure behind her eyes. She blinked to keep the tears at bay and was dismayed when a warm body settled behind her. The tower shook yet again, and several smaller stones tumbled from the roof above them.

"How are you faring?" Vilkas' voice was quiet and she felt the words brushing against her, rather than heard them. His breath was warm and damp against her cheek.

Steeling herself, forcing her voice not to shake, she replied: "I can't get the chest open. I'm down to my last lock pick now." She showed him the evidence. Admitting defeat was a hard thing, especially if you've lived the last fifteen years of your life on top of the world, having to tilt your head in order to see anyone else, as they were so far beneath you. _Pride goes before the fall_ – as Viggo was keen to remind her.

Warm hands covered hers and took the tools from her. She couldn't help the quiet snort that escaped her. If she – a master thief – couldn't get the chest open, there was no chance that the esteemed Companion, with his pristine reputation, would succeed. But the man simply put away the tools and pushed at the lid with one hand, which slid open without resistance.

She turned around in bewilderment, catching his smug look, lips curling ever so slightly.

"It wasn't locked," he said in a tone that could only be described as amused.

 _Well, that was embarrassing._

* * *

Climbing up the rickety ladder to their freedom, Vilkas had volunteered to go first. He was once again dressed in his well-fitting armor and with sky-forged steel heavy in his hands and an aura of determination that he almost felt sorry for the Silver Hands he would run into.

Almost.

He knew Ronja had brought back-up with her, the shaking and trembling of the entire building a testament to the incredible powers raging outside. Though, nothing could have prepared him for the sight when he lifted the hatch and straightened up on the roof.

Giants.

He was vaguely aware of his companions crawling out of the small hole one by one, but he made no move to assist them, too enraptured with the destruction around them. The sound was deafening. Men and women screaming in pain and terror, mingled with the commander's orders and the frightening roars of the giants.

Despite the darkness, it was easy to see the red pools staining the pristine white snow – though not all appeared to belong to the humans. One giant lay in a large, unmoving heap on top of what once must have been the stables. Two more were battling the unrelenting Silver Hands, swinging their clubs and simply stepping on them, easily crushing their enemies. The chaos was further exaggerated by the horde of stampeding mammoths that were trampling around in the courtyard, clearly panicked and scared out of their wits.

"You did this?" Erik voiced what he assumed was all of their thoughts.

"Yup," Ronja replied, popping the 'p' with her lips.

Vilkas felt suddenly apprehensive. Ronja wasn't a warrior, that much was obvious from just looking at her, but if she was able to accomplish this level of destruction with only a few days' notice… Well, that made her a far more dangerous contender.

"How?"

"I attacked a mammoth and when the herd started rushing me I led them here. As soon as the guards manning the walls took a look on the charging mammoths, they started attacking. The giants promptly forgot about me then," she grinned and tilted her head slightly.

She was proud of herself and was looking for praise, that much was obvious. However, Vilkas felt a shudder of disgust, as he figured this to be the coward's way of battle; letting someone else do the fighting, be they men or beasts.

"Come, this way," Ronja prompted, leading the Companions towards the edge. There was quite a bit of a drop down onto the wall beneath them and even if Ronja felt confident doing it in her leather armor, Vilkas knew that the added weight of steel would make the landing a lot heavier than he was comfortable with. He shared a look with his brother.

Ronja noticed their hesitation.

"If you lower yourselves using your arms, the drop will only be a meter or so," she explained and demonstrated the technique, landing safely on the wall. The others followed swiftly and Vilkas felt the landing through his heavy boots, jarring his bones all the way up to his neck. Thanks to the thick blankets of snow forming a convenient slope, they only had to step down from the stonework and down onto the ground to escape the fort.

Erik and Farkas went first, sliding down the slope as though they were children on a pair of skis. Ronja tried to follow but before reaching the edge she went barreling right into the arms of an equally surprised Silver Hand. He caught his bearing quickly though, and threw her to the ground, raising his sword in a wide arc. Vilkas saw her flinch and raising her arms in front of her face in an unconscious gesture of pleading for mercy. Before he could act, Vilkas pierced his own sword through the man, slicing through his unprotected torso as easily as though it were liquid.

Ronja lowered her arms in surprise and caught his eyes as he tugged the sword out, allowing the body to fall to the ground with a gurgle. She looked frightened, her pale face standing out in the night and contrasting wildly with her dark hair. _Definitely not a warrior._

He offered her his hand, and after but a moment's hesitation she gripped it and he pulled her to her feet. She ended up close; too close and yet he didn't back away. Her gaze hardened and before he could say anything, her lips crashed against his.

A wisp of hesitancy flickered through him, but only lasted a second before he reciprocated enthusiastically. It was not the gentle meeting of mouths, like the fading memory of their last kiss, but a battle fought with teeth, lips and tongue. He still clutched her hand in his and let it go in favor of cradling the back of her head and roughly pulling her closer to him.

He tasted blood and realized one of them had been bitten. Curiously, the taste of iron suited her. She was like a sword, hard and unyielding and it would cut you if you didn't know how to handle it properly. And she was warm. Like a furnace she ignited him, and every swipe of her tongue sent heats of jolt to his groin.

Then he was reminded of the need to breathe, and reluctantly released her. She was panting just as heavily as she was, but remained close to him, still clutching the front of his armor. She looked lovely, with her bruised lips and dark wicked eyes. He leaned in to claim her again, but was interrupted by his brother's impatient whisper from down below.

"Hurry up!"

Clarity washed over Vilkas as he was reminded of where he was. This was not the time, nor place for such things. Thanking the Divines that the others were most likely unable to see them high upon the wall, he took his hands off Ronja and backed away. She was smiling at him, a secretive smile that held a hint of a promise. She turned to descend the slope, but Vilkas caught her arm and gently pulled her back to face him.

"You should leave," he suggested.

She seemed reluctant and not a little offended by his idea, so he decided to clarify.

"The Harbinger wants us to bring you back so you can face penance for your crimes. You'll be imprisoned for a long time, and that is only if you're lucky enough they don't cut off your hand. If you leave now, I'll say you just slipped away before we could contain you."

Her gaze hardened. "The agreement was for you to help me save my brother – which you did, however reluctantly. I will stand by my word."

"I know you will," he smiled gently. "But I'm giving you the chance to be free, as long as you never come to Whiterun again."

She still appeared reluctant so he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and gently turned her to look at him. He pressed his lips against hers. It was short and sweet and nothing like their earlier clash of wills. This kiss was full of unspoken words.

"Consider it an apology of a sort," he whispered against her lips.

Her expression was undecipherable but she nodded and he let her go. They slid down the slope together and Vilkas ran towards the cover of trees where Erik and Farkas were waiting, leaving mayhem and death behind them. It wasn't until Erik asked about her that Vilkas realized Ronja was no longer with him, but had disappeared without a trace.

* * *

A/N: Okay, one more chapter to go, which is almost finished! I'll probably upload it sometime next week :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine.**

* * *

"Again!"

The clash of metal against metal cut through the air. The sound should have been satisfying to his ears, but all Vilkas felt was annoyance. The two whelps, one Nord and one Imperial fought one another to practice their defense. Vilkas would have thought the Imperial, Cyrus, would be much more able than the Nord, Yrla. The Imperial had come to them in shining, heavy armor, claiming to be the best warrior of his entire province. This had quickly been disproven when Vilkas had tested his skills, as he had done with Caspus several years ago. Caspus had impressed him, and he thought this Imperial would too. Unfortunately, Cyrus seemed incompetent and unable to grasp that fact.

Yrla, on the other hand, had been recruited by chance two months ago, when she had saved Torvar and Njada from an irate bear they had accidentally stumbled upon. She was a hunter, a scavenger and was very capable with bow and arrows. Her current practice fight against Cyrus proved she was more than able with a sword and shield as well.

Despite this, Vilkas felt jaded. Nothing was satisfying anymore. Training the new bloods only irritated him and going away on his own missions proved to be not only a waste of time, but unsafe as well. He had failed more than once because he was unable to pay attention and that had eventually resulted in a broken clavicle when he failed to avoid a blow from a mace. Caspus had been worried, and prevented him from going on other missions until the injury was healed. The pain had lessened to the point where Vilkas was able to swing a sword without trouble two weeks earlier, but Caspus had still not cleared him for duty. He knew it had less to do with the injury and all the more to do with his state of mind.

Cyrus struck against Yrla's shield, his blows sloppy and uneven. The Nord was easily able to defend against his strikes, until she, in a flawless move, trapped his sword, twisting it and forced him to drop it, lest he break his wrist. Before he was able to compose himself, she pointed the tip of her own sword towards his jugular.

"Yield," she prompted.

The young Imperial refused, looking both angry and disgusted at having lost the fight. He stood defiantly, neither surrendering nor attempting a counter blow. Eventually Yrla tired of his stubbornness and relinquished the sword, turning her back on him. He struck then, as quick as a snake, grabbing her by her long straw-colored hair and swept his legs against the back of her knees, causing her to lose her balance and drop to the ground. The Imperial followed gracefully, and ended up on top of her, straddling her hips to keep her in place while pushing her face down in the dirt.

"You bastard!" the Nord was outraged, twisting and turning in the hopes of throwing her opponent off balance, though to no avail. Though she was slightly taller than him, Cyrus was both broader and more heavily muscled, easily outweighing the girl.

"Yield," he said in an echo of her previous demand.

"Never!" she spat.

"Oh, well. I can sit here all day. Especially if you squirm like that."

When it looked as though he would go through with his promise, Vilkas thought it prudent to step in and interrupt the fight, as he was confident neither of them actually would surrender to the other. He walked up to the pair of them and forcibly pulled Cyrus away from Yrla. The youngster stumbled a few steps before catching his momentum and standing up straight. The woman ignored Vilkas' outstretched hand and pulled herself to her feet, brushing off her armor.

"That was cheating," she seethed. Her face was dirty after having been pressed into the dust and there were grains of sand stuck in her teeth.

Cyrus smiled victoriously in return and Vilkas placed himself between them, realizing the risk of the practice fight continuing and escalating into an all-out brawl.

"I think you both learned something here today," Vilkas spoke in what he hoped to be a calming voice. "Cyrus, you really need to practice the melee, especially with a one-handed weapon, and Yrla, don't lower your weapon until your opponent is dead or properly subdued. This is merely practice, but in a real fight people will fight dirty."

The tension between the two new bloods was palpable, but fortunately Farkas exited Jorrvaskr alongside Athis and Erik. The new appearances in the courtyard lessened the hostile stares and eventually Yrla snorted and walked away. Though, Vilkas was pleased to note, she did not turn her back on the Imperial.

Satisfied that at least one of the whelps had learned a valuable lesson, Vilkas stepped away from Cyrus and walked up to the wooden dummy nestled in a small alcove of the city wall. He drew his sword and swung it around him, exaggerating his movements in a way he never would in a real fight. This was more about meditating, calming his mind and exercising his stiff shoulder.

He heard footsteps on the gravel behind him and he knew without looking who had approached him.

"Go away, Farkas."

"You wanna spar for real? I doubt that dummy is putting up much of a fight," his brother asked in his rumbling voice.

He was barely able to finish the sentence before Vilkas struck the dummy's shield a little too hard and it spun around, smacking him in the chest. It wasn't a hard blow, but he gasped and prayed that no one other than his brother had seen the error. The whelps would never respect him again if they caught him making such a rookie mistake.

"But then again, this one seems rather vicious," Farkas chuckled good-naturedly.

Vilkas sighed and withdrew from the dummy, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"What do you want, Farkas?" He was tired. Not just from lack of sleep but a bone-tired exhaustion that made him feel twice his age.

"I'm just worried about you, brother. You haven't been the same since we were captured by the Silver Hand. It's been six months."

Five months and twenty-three days. Not that he was counting.

"Is this about Ronja?" Farkas inquired in the most gentle tone he'd ever heard him use.

"What? No!" At Farkas look, he relented. "Maybe."

Damn it, when had his brother become so insightful? Perhaps he was just acting dumb so people would underestimate them and he could take them down without anyone seeing him coming. He received his answer with Farkas' next words, however.

"I saw you two kissing on the wall of Fort Dunstad."

He was saved from further embarrassing questions when Caspus walked out in the courtyard with a large piece of cheese, calling his name.

"What?"

"There's a new recruit and I want you to handle it," Caspus mumbled in between bites of food.

Vilkas had long ago stopped feeling disgust at the way the man spoke while eating. Though it was unpleasant to get crumbs of food spat on you, the Nord suspected that the Harbinger's excessive eating stemmed from his past. The kind of past he rarely spoke of, but hinted at a harsh and unjust life, studded with war and death.

"Isn't that your job?"

"Well, you're mostly useless these days anyway. And besides, the kid said he knew you."

Vilkas felt his interest piqued at the second part of his words, allowing him to ignore the sting from the first remark. He wasn't useless, he was just… Inadequate.

"He's inside." Caspus clapped him on his previously injured shoulder, causing the Nord to wince slightly.

Inside, it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust, as the sun had stood high in the sky outside, while Jorrvaskr was lit with a fire and only a few sconces lining the walls. A man stood by the stairs on the opposite side of the building. He was rather tall, but slightly built and carried a war axe and an iron shield. He didn't appear familiar.

The stranger straightened his back when he caught sight of Vilkas and strode up to him. And suddenly, there was something in his movements and in his eyes that beckoned at Vilkas' subconscious. Did he know this boy?

"Hello," he said, opting for a neutral start.

"Hi! I, er, would like to join the Companions," the boy stammered, his tone eager.

"Well, we don't let just anyone in. Why should we welcome you?" Vilkas weighed his words before speaking. Why in Oblivion was he so familiar?

"I've admired the Companions since I was a little boy. I want to fight with strength and honor, defending the people of Skyrim!"

"Sounds like you should join the army instead then," the Companion scoffed. "What's your name, boy?"

"Viggo."

And suddenly it all clicked into place in Vilkas' mind.

"You're Ronja's brother," he stated.

"Well, yes. Though I hope you won't hold that against me."

No wonder he hadn't recognized him at first glance. He'd only seen the boy a few minutes several months ago; and the transformation from then to now was incredible. Whereas before, he had been but skin and bones, a shadow of a man, drenched in blood and pain and before him now stood a healthy-looking young man. He was thin, but his bare arms revealed strong arms. The only traces of his capture were the faded scars on his cheek and the haunted look in his dark eyes.

Those eyes. They were exactly like his sister's and Vilkas suppressed the thought of how they had glittered mischievously the last time he'd seen them. He sighed. Yet again the thief was haunting his subconscious as she had after their encounter in Markarth.

"Is she here as well?" Vilkas couldn't help but ask, even against his better judgement and his spirits fell slightly as Viggo shook his head.

"No. After I recovered from my… experience, we went separate ways. I wanted to find my own way in life, not just relying on my older sister."

Even through the little things Ronja had told them about her relationship with her brother, Vilkas was confident Viggo's suggestion hadn't gone over well with his sister. Especially if you considered the fact she had had to break him out of a fortified stronghold the last time he went away on his own.

"I'm guessing she wasn't thrilled to hear that?"

"She was furious. We don't always get along, but we have never fought like that. I left the same night and haven't seen her since," Viggo sighed.

"Well, I can't see how I could turn you away now. Welcome to the Companions," Vilkas tried to sound cheerier than he felt. If not even her own brother knew her whereabouts, she was as good as gone.

He cursed himself for his thoughts, as he had told her himself she shouldn't return to Whiterun, lest she'd face incarceration or worse. She was just looking out for herself, as she'd always done.

And yet, he couldn't help but to feel sudden tugs on his heartstrings at the thought of never seeing her again.

* * *

It had been yet another tiring day in Jorrvaskr. Vilkas had, as usual, supervised the whelps' melee training and was pleased to see Viggo fitting in quite nicely with the rest. Though he, like everyone else, occasionally traded both words and blows with Cyrus.

Vilkas had decided to skip dinner, as he could feel the mounting pressure of an on-setting headache developing behind his eyes. Supper was now more boisterous than ever, with even more new Companions joining the ranks. In the last few months, the Companions' reputation had improved, with new recruits and available missions just flooding in.

The warrior easily traversed the darkened corridors of the lower halls of Jorrvaskr. He had lived there most of his life and knew exactly how many steps there were between the staircase and the doors to his room.

Inside his room, a single candle battled against the darkness, casting flickering shadows on the walls. When he was younger, he'd thought the shadows invisible monsters and had been terrified to sleep alone. Now, the shadows still unsettled him, but for different reasons.

He removed his armor, stripping down to his trousers and stepped up towards the wash basin. The water was cold, as always, and he could feel his skin prickling in response. When he reached for the cloth, his hand grasped only air.

"Looking for this?"

His heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice and he turned so swiftly he swore he could hear his neck crack in response to the sudden movement.

Ronja was sitting cross-legged on his bed, as she had all those months ago when she first came to him. The way her eyes swept over his semi-clothed body was also reminiscent of that time. But now, unlike then, Vilkas felt himself responding to her appreciative stares. While she was looking him over, he took the opportunity to peruse her in return.

She appeared the same as she had six months ago. _Six months, ten days._ Her dark hair was tied back, and her armor was different, but there was no denying that she was here – sitting on his bed, stroking a piece of cloth between her fingers.

He approached her carefully, in the same way he approached a skittish animal, desperate for her to not flee when he got too close. He took the offered cloth and dried himself with it, allowing himself a few moments to collect his thoughts.

"Why are you here?"

She had apparently been expecting this question, as she stood and withdrew a wad of paper from one of her pockets.

"These are receipts, lists of known members, letters and the like, all taken from the Silver Hand. I promised to give you that when we made the deal, but I forgot until now," she mumbled, offering him the correspondence.

He plucked it from her hands, and deposited it on the nearby table without a second glance.

"Is that the only reason?"

She hadn't met his eyes once since he'd found her inside his room and he felt annoyed. He couldn't read her expressions; she was too closely-guarded. And then, she shook her head slightly. He'd have missed it if he hadn't been studying her closely.

"Is it because of Viggo?" Vilkas tried again.

"No. I didn't even know he was here until I arrived and saw him practicing in the yard."

"Then why are you here?" He stepped closer, decreasing the distance between them until her chest brushed against his with her every breath. He bent down his head, feeling her heavy breaths catching against his lips.

"I don't… I mean, I've never before cared about anyone else. I didn't care about their feelings or their safety or anything," she whispered, still refusing to meet his gaze. "Until now. When I left you at the Silver Hand and you were shouting at me, something inside me shattered. It _hurt._ "

She paused. He knew she was uncomfortable, but he refused to say anything to ease her troubles. He wanted to hear her say the words, even though it obviously pained her.

"And you're so infuriating and you get under my skin in a way no one ever has. Even though it's painful, I've never felt that way about anyone before. I just…" she trailed off and raised her chin, warm brown eyes boring straight into his.

"I came back for you."

Those were the words he'd been waiting for and without any further ado; he enveloped her, crushing her against his chest, his mouth eagerly seeking out hers. She responded just as readily, flattening her palms against his naked chest only to reach up and tug at his hair.

He winced at the pain and growled warningly, tugging at her lower lip with his teeth. Impatiently, he backed her until her legs touched the side of his bed and they fell down together in a tangle of limbs. He relinquished her lips and mercilessly attacked her neck with his mouth. He knew he was sure to leave marks, but he didn't care.

She flexed her hips, crashing them against his and gave a needy whine, which he met with an answering growl.

"I told you that you would be punished if you ever returned to Whiterun," he spoke against her throat.

She gave a wicked smile and rocked her hips again, drawing a moan from his lips.

"I look forward to it."

* * *

FIN

A/N: Thank you so much for all your favs and follows, but most of all thank you for your reviews! This was my first multi-chapter story and I didn't expect so many to be interested. I started this in order to practice writing and I really want to thank you for your support along the way.


End file.
